“Everything good?”
“Impostor syndrome reared its ugly head, but yeah. She’s good.”
“Lovely. Is your Saturday free?” he asks.
It takes everything in me not to immediately sayyes. “Can I check my schedule and get back to you?”
“Take all the time you need. Just know, Ineedto see you again.” There’s no mistaking the bass in his voice.
“Why do youneedto see me again?” I ask playfully. My stomach tightens, and my inner thighs get wet. I hope he follows my lead.
“Because we have unfinished business,” he says with some strain.
“What kind of business?”
“Moyo.” His voice is harsh.
“Niyi.” Mine is smooth.
“This woman,” he chuckles, and I wish I could see him laughing. He looks stunning when joy outlines his features. “Are you free tomorrow? Well, technically today?”
“For what?” I question. Regardless of his response, I know my answer, but if I don’t make him sweat a little, then who will?
“Wine tasting…and maybe some other tastings.”
I smile. What better way to follow up tonight than with more wine and, hopefully, a room where we won’t get interrupted this time? The infinite possibilities run through my mind: Niyi’s mouth on mine. And after that, all over me.
I smile, not bothering to keep the rasp from my voice.
“It’s a date.”
26Niyi
BEFORE I REALIZED MY FATHER AIN’T SHIT, I SPENT MOST OFmy childhood studying astrology. Post-realization, I spent the rest of it working towards a financially sensible career, so I could leave my ain’t-shit father. As a result, young Niyi didn’t get a lot of time outside. Especially not doing things like jumping rope or skipping.
Therefore, I’m shocked to find myself skipping all the way home. I didn’t even know I could do that, but I can’t help it after being with Moyo.
I held her in my arms, looked into her smoldering, brown eyes, and tasted her. It was everything I didn’t know I needed.
Each step is like walking on a cloud. Almost as ifIam Mercury, winged feet and all. The cold is inconsequential with Moyo’s captivating scent lingering on my skin. Every gust of wind brings the intoxicating smell up to my nose. I make a mental note to send a thank-you letter to Elder Teda, Uranus, wherever they are…possibly the Amazon, for the blustery winds.
Still giddy on Moyo, once I get home, I pull out my sketchbook, turn on my classical music playlist, and get lost exploring abstract shapes and unconventional designs to try out in the studio.
Vivaldi’s “Spring Largo” permeates the room as my designs go from malleable structures to pieces I’ll need Aaron’s help with taking from 2D to 3D. Most are a mess, uncoordinated, raw, but they flow effortlessly. Thesketches begin to lose form, my pace decreasing and inspiration lacking until I think,What would Moyo like?
Her smile pops into my mind, and this time, her image fuels my concentration. The music fades and all that’s left is her. The full cheeks, wide smile, and hair that rivals the clouds. She comes into view, and I move faster.
I think of her love for her work, her organizational prowess, her dedication to her friendships, and her movies.
Her movies!The idea strikes like lightning. The idea doesn’t take shape in my head, but my fingers interpret it expertly, putting form to paper. Recalling the green all over Moyo’s home, the perfect complimentary color comes to mind—ochre. Earthy, to mesh with her aesthetic, but dynamic enough to contrast with the space.
When I’m done, the adrenaline lessens, and I feel a hand violently shaking my shoulder.
“Yo, Merc, what the fuck?” I move away from my cousin’s grip. A wave of nausea hits.
Merc’s face is transfixed in a face-splitting grin. “When did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What?”
